


Three Thousand Miles Away

by orphan_account



Series: The Bones of You [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Underage, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Dean, Pre-Series, Scent Kink, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cold night all alone and Dean searches for something to keep him warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Thousand Miles Away

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a random ficlet for Penny. Title taken from The Bones of You by Elbow.

It's so damn cold in the motel room. Why the fuck couldn't Dad had picked a place with a working hearter? Still, it didn't matter. Dean was stuck in this place until Dad came back with more information of whatever the hell was making the townsfolk turn up on church steps with no eyes.

  
You watch the room Dean. I've got some things to do. Do not leave.

So here he is alone in a cold room with nobody to keep him warm. Don't think about that. Sammy is at college and sulking is not going to help. Keep your mind off of him. Fucking hell why is it so damn cold!

  
Dean searched through his duffel for another peice of warm clothing. Fuck, everything smells awful, why didn't I do laundry today? His hand touches something soft and worn. Thank god for his endless supply of flannel shirts. Dean pulled it out, but it wan't his. It was Sam's favorite plaid shirt. The gray and purple is as familiar as Dean's own jacket. He must have left it in his rush. Before Dean can think, he's shrugging into the shirt.

  
Well, it is pretty warm and Oh God it still smells like Sammy, like those nights when they only had each other to stay warm. This same shirt wrapped around his brother as the shook and clung together and stop that Dean! A drink. A drink will help.

  
He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the nightstand and lays down on his bed, back against the headboard. He doesn't bother getting a glass, just swallows straight from the bottle as he adjusts the pillows. The drink burns his throat and warms him up ("You know, Dean, alcohol restricts bloodflow, so really you're just making yourself colder." "Shut up, Sammy. You're such a freaking nerd.")

  
Minutes pass and a chill echos through Dean and he pulls the flannel shirt tighter. The scent of Sam reaches his nose again. It smells just like that first night Dean woke up to his baby brother hard and leaking and rubbing one off on Dean's stomach in his sleep.

  
Dean knows he should have stopped it, but he never did, just clutched Sammy and buried his nose in that soft hair and breathed and maybe he even pushed back a bit because God Sammy always slotted up next to him perfectly, like two halves of one whole. Maybe they were made for this, for each other.

  
 Dean realizes his jeans are open and his hand is on his cock and he is jacking himself off to the thought of Sammy. He grips the plaid shirt, burries his nose in the memories of motel rooms and fevered nights.

  
 Jesus fuck the shirt smells just like little Sammy, like cheap shampoo and sweat and gun oil. Sammy who could read for hours and not move an inch. Sammy who smiled at Dean like he was the only person in the world. Sammy who whispered "I love you" in reverent tones every time they were between the sheets. Sammy who made this thing feel like love and not depravity. Sammy, Sammy, oh God baby boy I love you, so perfect, Sammy.

  
Now Dean is sitting on his hotel bed with his sweat cooling into drops of ice water, hand covered in spunk. He's 3,000 miles away from Sammy with nothing but a shirt full of memories and watery eyes he will never admit to.


End file.
